


Stealing Jumpers

by Saraste



Series: Nwalin week 2019 [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, Knitting, M/M, Nwalin Week, Wool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Nori knits jumpers for Dwalin and then steals them to wear them himself. Dwalin doesn't really mind.





	Stealing Jumpers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nwalin week 2019, day 1. leather or wool. Beta-read by the long-suffering katajainen. All remaining mistakes are mine.  
> Will continue on day 7.

Nori steals Dwalin’s jumpers, that is a law of nature, a certainty, a thing as constant as the turning of the earth around its axis, or the sun rising from the east, or Dwalin’s unshaking love for him.

 

The same can be said of Dwalin indulging Nori when he does it.

 

It’s not like Nori isn’t welcome to the jumpers, since he has knitted most of them, so he’s quite free to them by virtue of that alone. 

Firstly, Nori’s almost always cold in the winter in their otherwise lovely old country house, no matter what he does; he’s so wiry of build, with little fat to act as a heat-source, so stealing Dwalin’s jumpers is more of a survival strategy than anything, or so Nori sometimes informs Dwalin, while all but drowning in Dwalin’s favourite Norwegian jumper, the one with the lovely pattern across the shoulders in shades of muted greens, reds and blues that makes it look like it’s flowering. Nori pairs it with skinny jeans and comfy  knee-high wool socks when winter is firmly shut outside, the cats have stolen the bed, and Nori Dwalin’s focus. It’s not a bad thing, chilly winter days sat at his desk in his corner of the study, looking at Nori draped across their flowery IKEA armchair, reading a book by the light of the antique foot-lamp, with chilli slowly cooking on the old stove downstairs, filling the house with a mouthwatering smell and promises of warming delight when it’s suppertime, even if it plays hell with Dwalin’s productivity and his bosses yell at him for it later. (Sometimes, when Nori’s wearing the Norwegian thing and Dwalin’s laid his head on his chest, with Nori lazily carding his long fingers through his hair, it seems as if they’re transported into as summer-day, the sound of buzzing insects and birdsong almost discernible, the lovely scents of a flower-crown in Nori’s hair wafting in Dwalin's nose, but then he sneezes and it’s winter again with a fire in their hearth, cats on top of their legs and Nori reading a book.)

Secondly, there is a thrill, after he’s managed to focus on his work for some time, in turning and suddenly (although not quite unexpectedly) seeing Nori with that big knit falling to nude mid-thigh, strolling across the wooden floor covered in a woven rug, with a predatory gleam to his eye, eyeing Dwalin intently, and knowing that he’s wearing only that, that there’s absolutely  _ nothing _ underneath, not with Nori’s face looking like that, with the deliberate strut of his steps, almost like a cat after a mouse. It’s Nori on the prowl, and he always gets what he wants. Which is him straddling Dwalin’s lap, which position will have been achieved by pushing him down to sit, had he had the audacity to be standing or doing anything else when Nori was in a stalking mood, this time Dwalin’s already sitting in his Nori-approved working-chair, and kissing him silly with a hungry-eager mouth, letting Dwalin’s big hands under the knit to ascertain the bareness of the rest of him, to fondle and appreciate. Sometimes Nori is slick and ready for Dwalin to just slide in, sometimes he requires  _ Dwalin _ to do it for him, “because my hands aren’t working,” he’ll sometimes say, full of cheek, even when those same hands might at that very moment be relieving Dwalin of his pants, or be already wrapped his cock and squeezing, yet never too hard, always gentle, with filthy-lovely things whispered into Dwalin’s ears as he does it, about how  _ good _ it’ll be to have him inside, how much Nori  _ needs  _ it, how he must have him. It always, like this time, ends up with Nori riding Dwalin, still wearing the jumper, making him look soft and vulnerable, somehow, when he’s anything but. There’s nothing vulnerable in the deliberate shift of those hips, the Nori-set pace, the hands firmly gripping Dwalin’s shoulders, it’s Nori fucking  _ Dwalin, _ never mind who’s inside who. Dwalin always gets to come, so he has no complaints. It’s not him who washes the sticky-stained wool, after all.

Thirdly, Nori simply just looks too adorable, all swallowed-up inside one of Dwalin’s big jumpers.

Nori seems to rarely be without needles and yarn in the winter, if he’s not reading, cooking or fucking, all the way until the time comes to sow the first seeds in early spring. Sometimes, when Dwalin catches Nori knitting unawares, especially with a show like _Doctor Who_ on, Dwalin could swear the he sees the needles moving on their own. Then he blinks (unless they’re watching an episode with the Weeping Angels in it), seeing nothing but Nori's fingers on the needles,and settles more comfortably with Nori snuggled against him, intent on his show, the ever-present mug of tea at his side. He almost always seems to have a steaming mug of tea, even when Dwalin very rarely sees him putting the kettle on, which is curious, but a thing that Dwalin has chosen to ignore. Sometimes the ignoring is encouraged by Nori with his pretty pouting mouth and deft fingers making Dwalin forget all doubts and conjuring up new socks to ward off all chills.

In all, Nori is entitled to his secrets, as there are also things that Dwalin still cannot share with Nori. They do not  _ own _ each other, nor do they owe each other every single secret and detail about the lives they led before meeting each other. Now, keeping something secret that has to do with them as a couple, that’s a trickier thing. That is something that Dwalin couldn’t abide. He’s a broken thing, he knows, didn’t quite come back to his old self from the fighting on foreign soil, still dreams of blood seeping into sand and screams, and Nori is sometimes and enigma, but  _ his _ enigma, and they shouldn’t work, but they just  _ do _ . And all that could be broken by secrets.

Yet, as long as Nori continues wearing Dwalin’s jumpers and making their home and garden a cozy safe haven for both, Dwalin is content.

Until he isn't.


End file.
